Throwing it All Away

I sat on an old floral armchair, my butt sinking into the cushion comfortably. Everything in the room was spotless, something that was so normal yet so foreign to see. I scanned the room, my eyes landing on a bookcase behind me. There wasn't a space on the shelf that was empty. Then my eyes landed on a clock, my lids squinting together when seeing it actually tick. A lamp sat upon the side table to my left, a box of tissues and a candle placed on it for decoration.

"Scar?" a woman's voice called out my name trying to get my attention. My eyes remained still on the lamp, seeing that they had well-running electricity. So much so that the lamp remained on during the day, even though there was more than enough sunlight filling the room through the open windows. "Are you okay to talk?" she asked.

I finally turned my head towards Deanna. She leaned forward on the couch across from me, her arms rested on her knees with a notebook snuggled into her lap. She had a video camera set up beside her, the lens pointed at me. Everyone was requested to participate in an interview, I was one of the last of our group for her to speak to. I guess it was their own version of the three questions.

"What?" I asked, my face blank. I was trying to process everything all at once.

"Are you okay to talk with me?" she asked, her voice gentle. I nodded my head slowly, swallowing hard. I had no idea what she wanted to know from or about me, but I was petrified. Petrified that she may ask me a question I didn't want to answer. Or if I did and she really knew who I was or what I had done, she'd throw me out right here and now. "Rick said you guys have been out there since the beginning. That you didn't know each other before all of this. Is that right?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's right," I answered, my voice meek. I rubbed my hands along my pants nervously.

"What did you do before all of this happened to us?" she questioned, crossing one leg over the other and placing her notebook back down on her knee.

"I don't think that really matters anymore," I shook my head.

"Oh, I know it does. I was a congresswoman and my husband Reg is a professor of architecture," she explained. "I was on my way back to help my district in Ohio with the crisis when the army stopped us and directed us here. They were supposed to show up later but never did. And there was this huge shopping mall about to be built, so my husband along with my sons took the supplies and built up these walls. It does matter."

"You've been behind these walls this entire time?" My brows furrowed.

"We need people who have lived out there," she stated, "your group is the first we've even considered taking in for a long time."

I shook my head, leaning back in my chair as I thought to myself before answering. If these people really knew what it was like out there, they would keep their doors closed. They would keep people like us out. People like us know what it's like to survive out there with others who are just as desperate. Those who will measure you up and find your weaknesses to take what they need or use another person just long enough to spare their own life. Then her statement dawned on me, how much they really did need us. They had no idea what it's like, but we do. We can keep this place safe for them and Alexandria kept us safe from having to go back out.

"I only worked at a shooting range on the weekend," I answered, not knowing how much help that would be. "I grew up on a farm with horses and goats. That's it."

Deanna nodded her head, scribbling something down in her notebook. "Where do you think you fit in… in your group?" Deanna then asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I am exceptionally good at reading people, which is another reason I like to hold these interviews," she smiled warmly. "You know if I didn't win reelection I was going to become a professional poker player," she laughed, "But I also like hearing from people who they think they are."

"Don't you think it's kind of a loaded question to ask? How can you even describe or categorize yourself when you might be perceived totally differently?" My brows tightened together, I could feel myself getting frustrated. Why did any of this even matter anyway?

"Well, let's give it a shot. I'll start. Would you say that you're the voice of reason for the group?" she questioned, leaning forward again like she was eager to hear my answer.

"No. I would say that would be more so Carol."

"Okay," she looked down at her notes and then back at me, "what about selflessness?"

"No, that's Glenn."

"Are you the backbone of the group--"

"Rick is," I answered without a second thought.

"How about, reliable?"

"That is Daryl, always," I shook my head. "You wanted to know what I am?" I pressed, growing angry. Deanna was using all these wonderful attributes, but none of them suited me. I thought back to all of the situations I wound up in and all the mistakes I have made. "I'm stubborn, reactive, and relentless. I often act or speak without thinking, and more times than not I am regretful. And worst of all I am terrified." My voice hitched in my throat, coming off more aggressive than I intended to. Deanna simply smiled, a huge grin sliding up her face as she scribbled in her notebook. "What are you writing?" I snapped.

"It seems to me that you know exactly what you are," she laughed, "just like me you described each of your people to a tee. You know how to read them… people."

"Well, it's not hard when you spend every day with them," I huffed out, crossing my arms.

"But you got yourself totally wrong," she smiled, "Do you want to know how they described you?" she asked. I peered up at her, not saying a word. She nodded her head anyway and looked down at her notes, reading the page. "Carol said you are the selfless one. She told me a story about you being one of the few to run off into the woods when she lost her daughter." she glanced up at me. She went back to her page when she realized I was listening intently. "Glenn used the word strong-willed rather than stubborn, you know exactly when and when not to fight for something. He said most of the time you were only that way when it involved your family in danger. Rick said you were the reliable one. That you are always right behind him to have his back." I felt my shoulders ease back, her words comforting me. I tried to keep the corners of my lips from curling up. "And Daryl," she paused, skimming the page, "Well, Daryl didn't have much to say to me at all… but he had a lot to say about you. He told me you were fearless and it was the only thing that scared him."

A rush of emotions came over me. I nodded my head, exhaling harshly as I caught a stray tear falling from my eye. I ran my hand through my greasy hair as I looked off out the window to quickly try and pull myself together. I could hear Deanna finally close her notebook.

"Scar, do you want to be here?" her voice was low and soft.

"We need to make this work," I responded, not yet breaking my eye contact from the window.

"Why?"

I inhaled sharply, turning my head to finally look at her when I knew I had collected myself. "Because we were almost out there for too long. And if I don't see what it's like to live again… I will become all those things I said."

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After the interviews were taken care of we were asked to surrender our weapons. It wasn't a permanent surrender, but only for our time spent within the walls. Alexandria kept a log of everything they owned, to keep track of supplies and weapons. If we were planning on stepping outside of the walls that day we would need to sign our weapons back out from a woman named Olivia. We were then given two separate houses for us to divide ourselves in, although we still didn't like the idea of that just yet. Everyone agreed to stay in one house, for the time being, all of us camping out in the living room until we really scoped this community out.

"Alright Scar, the bathroom is free," Michonne called out to me as she emerged from the hallway. "I couldn't stop brushing my teeth, I think I was standing there for twenty minutes," she laughed as I ran by her.

I walked up the carpeted stairs as my hand glided up the stained wood banister. I couldn't wait to shower. The last time I had a real shower with hot running water was at the CDC. I entered the marble-walled bathroom, immediately locking the door behind me and turning on the showerhead. Within seconds the room fogged up with steam and I peeled my clothes from my body and stepped into the glass shower.

I exhaled a long-awaited laugh as the water burned my skin, washing away any doubt I held about Alexandria. At this moment I didn't care, I was clean. I watched as thick dirt slid down my skin and pooled around the drain, scrubbing my body clean. I grabbed the shampoo and poured it over my hair, inhaling the green apple scent as I massaged it into my scalp. Oh, how I missed this feeling. I felt lighter. The weight of dirt, blood and tattered clothes no longer held me down.

After scrubbing every inch of my body clean I reluctantly turned the showerhead off, grabbing a soft blue towel from the rack and wrapping it around my body. I wiped the mirror clean of fog, staring down at what looked like a new person. My body tensed when I looked at the scar on my face, seeing it for the very first time myself. The skin around the cut was a bright red as the last bit of it still remained scabbed over. It was like someone used a knife to carve out the freckles on my cheek. My hair now reached down to the dimples in my lower back and my collar bones looked like buckets from how far they protrude. I tore my eyes away from the mirror, turning my back to it as I finished drying my body off.

Upon walking back downstairs, I found everyone settled in for the night. They had set up cushions and blankets on the floor for those who couldn't fit on a couch or chair. I was taken aback when my eyes landed on Rick, seeing his face freshly shaved. He looked human again, like that same Rick I met in the streets of Atlanta. I was about to take a seat on the floor when a knock at the door caused us all to jerk towards it, our survival instincts getting the better of us. Rick instinctively walked over to it when Deanna let herself in.

"Wow," she gasped at Rick's face and he groaned, uncomfortable. "I didn't know what was under there," she shook her head, smiling. "Listen, I don't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to stop by and see how you are all settling in," she said, her eyes glancing across the room, seeing us all in here. "Oh my. Staying together." she looked back at Rick. She looked impressed by our choice. "Smart."

"No one said we couldn't," Rick answered.

"You said you were a family. That's what you said." She smiled at him. "Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think so?"

Rick simply nodded before getting to his own question, "Everybody said you gave them jobs." My ears perked up at that. Deanna never gave me a job.

"Mm-hmm. Yeah. Part of this place. Looks like the communists won after all," she laughed out loud.

Rick smiled, "Well, you didn't give me one."

"I have," she stated, "I just haven't told you yet." She then glanced over his shoulder. "Same with Michonne." She then paused. "I'm closing in on something for Sacr. And I'm just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out, but I will."

I looked over at Daryl, he stared out the window not giving Deanna the time of day. We were all taking our time to adjust to Alexandria, but he seemed to take the longest. I don't even know if he knew how to be civilized anymore. But did any of us?

"Goodnight guys, I'll see you in the morning," Deanna said her farewell and closed the door behind her.

I don't know if tomorrow would bring us anything good, but for the first time in a long time, I felt safe enough to close my eyes. And that was enough for me.